


Feel This

by Sybilina



Category: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 10:59:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6421108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sybilina/pseuds/Sybilina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They experience a lot of false starts before they actually do the do, but false starts are still pretty great.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feel This

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of a sequel to Want but the tone is slightly different and I felt weird adding it as a chapter two.

The next day, Neil is in less pain than he'd expected. The water Andrew had shoved at him and into him last night paid off. Still, he carries a bottle of water around with him everywhere.

He walks everywhere. It's a kind of new revelation. All his life, all he's ever done is run. Usually running from something, but in recent years, it's taken a turn to running to something. To school. To court. To the ball, to the opponents, the rivals. To Andrew.

Walking is different. It's slow. It's steady and unrushed. It makes his heart pound in ways running never does. Makes him stop and realize he's not fighting for his life anymore. He's simply living it.

Andrew joins him on his walks, usually. Never joins him on his runs but always seems to notice when he's getting ready for a walk, gathers his keys, his phone which he shuts off anyway, slips on his shoes and is out the door even before Neil is. Bored and annoyed that Neil had made him wait while he said goodbye to the cats. Like this was Andrew's plan and not his.

They walk a path around the cabin. Neil usually has a fantastic sense of direction, days and weeks and months and years spent on the roads, on the go, always had him searching out the sun, checking the time, finding himself within the world when he always felt like he was outside it. But in the woods, with the forest looming overhead, he was always thrown by the shadows of the trees. He had to trust Andrew, who somehow always knew the way.

“Do you remember?” Andrew asks softly as they walk.

Neil glances at him and realizes he's asking about yesterday. Last night. Alcohol fogs the brain, erases memory for some people. “Yes.” He remembers everything.

“Did you mean it?” Andrew asks. There's a certain kind of vulnerability in Andrew today, in the soft shadows dancing across him, that makes Neil want to cover him up with a blanket or an oversized hoodie. Makes him glad no one else is there to see it. He doesn't trust anyone with this Andrew. No one else deserves to see it. He kind of doubts he even deserves to see it.

“All of it,” Neil says. He's not entirely sure what Andrew is asking but it doesn't matter. It's not a lie. What he'd said the night before was pure truth, unbridled, unhindered by tact and inhibition.

“All of it,” Andrew repeats, like he's tasting the words.

Neil watches him out of the corner of his eye but doesn't say anything.

Back at the cabin, after they shed their shoes trickling dirt and dying leaves, Andrew immediately presses against him. Kissing him, feeling under his shirt, tracing patterns over his scars in ways he'd never thought he'd enjoy. He reaches over his shoulder, grabs his shirt in the middle between his shoulder blades, and pulls up. Andrew barely moves away long enough not to get caught in the fabric before he's back again, gripping insistently at his jeans, unsnapping the button. The zipper is loud among their harsh breathing and it makes Neil shiver. Andrew's fingers are hesitant yet still somehow demanding against the elastic of his boxers and Neil slips them down, off, not wanting to break apart from Andrew but being forced to when Andrew pulls away. Somehow, being bared to Andrew isn't embarrassing, humiliating, or painful. Stopped being anything close a while ago.

Before he can meet Andrew's lip again, Andrew's fingers lap his skin as they shove him towards the bedroom. They lead him to the bed, pull him up and onto the covers, the heat building within his skin playing dirty tricks as he acknowledges the cool air of the cabin. On hands and knees, he waits patiently for Andrew, who's still on his feet beside the bed, disappears out of view behind him, and he realizes _oh, that_.

A sharp shiver crests within him and he tries to contain it but it's too sudden, too immediate, too delicious. His arms tighten, the muscles bunching, his fingers gripping the bedspread as he hears Andrew uncap a bottle behind him.

“Yes,” he says softly, not sure Andrew wants to hear it, not sure if the silence is supposed to be broken, but feeling the need to say it anyway.

Hands appear suddenly on his hips, the extra bit on his back protecting his kidneys, and then travel, like they're mapping him out. Tickling over his hip bones, drifting down over his thighs and back up again, navigating the series of scars along his back, hopping from knob to knob on his spine, making him arch, air coursing in and out faster than it had any right to.

He feels something bigger, heavier settle onto his back, the tickle of hair on his skin, and he freezes. The hot air of Andrew's breath against his side, rough and ragged, has him plotting courses in his mind. He knows there's ice cream in the freezer and if Andrew calls this quits, he'll go for that first. Load up two bowls, cover them both with a blanket, throw on some netflix movie. Or if Andrew is more restless, he'll grab the keys, zipping up his pants uncomfortably as he searches the local movie theatre on his phone.

He won't even hesitate. All Andrew has to do is say it.

He doesn't.

A few more moments of tense silence goes by before Andrew raises his head. Places a kiss, barely there, to Neil's skin just seconds before a finger teases against Neil's hole.

He doesn't know whether to tense or relax, and instead he rocks back into it, holding his breath, squeezing his eyes shut.

Andrew teases for far too long, and not long enough, before slipping the finger inside. Slides it in and out. It's weird but not any weirder than Neil has done to himself. He'd planned for this moment in showers and lonely nights. He didn't want it to be any more awkward than it needed to be.

Then Andrew is sliding in two fingers, slow, excruciatingly slow, and Neil is rocking back and forth in the only way he knows how to say _yes_ right now. His vocal chords aren't working, too intent on helping his lungs feed his blood air. His knuckles are white below him, stark contrast against the dark brown of the comforter, and then his vision breaks into stars as Andrew's fingers crook inside him. He must make a noise of some sort because Andrew stops, making Neil jerk back onto his fingers again, seeking out that same pressure point, the spot he'd read about but never managed to find on his own.

Andrew doesn't hit it often, doesn't seem too keen on experimenting with Neil's prostate, though he does seem to glance over it intentionally when it happens. Like he hadn't heard enough uptake in Neil's breathing in the last few seconds, needed to hear Neil keen.

Well, Neil did warn him that he'd be hearing him whine all week.

He just didn't realize Andrew would be so intent on wringing it from him.

He doesn't even feel the orgasm build until it's cresting over his toes, sliding up his legs and down from his ears, exploding so delicately, he can't even breath. Andrew works him through it, almost to the point of painful, and Neil knows he'd let him continue long after if he wanted to. Instead, he pulls his fingers out, pushes him sideways until Neil lands on his side, away from the splatter. Andrew pulls the blanket out from under them, hops onto the bed and straddles Neil, and Neil realizes he's still clothed. Even in his state, he feels it turn him on.

Andrew leans down, hovering over him so as not to crush him, lips meeting his almost chastely, and Neil reaches up to the headboard to clutch at something. Andrew's jeans are rough against his naked skin and it's hot and painful and absolutely wonderful when he feels Andrew's hips moving against his. He swallows into the kiss and leans up into it, searching Andrew out, wanting to pull him in.

He feels Andrew's fingers grip his wrists and he lets go of the headboard, lets Andrew lead his hands down until they're pressed against Andrew's thighs, still covered by blue jeans but blocking Neil in, hard and solid against his ribs.

He hears the slide of a zipper again, presses his palms against Andrew, wanting to grip and move and pull but not. Feels the panting of Andrew's breath against his lips before they meet his and he realizes he's closed his eyes. Something about the moment feels like he's stripped Andrew down to the bone, even though he's the one naked and pliant and pinned to the bed. He doesn't want to open his eyes and take that much more from Andrew. This is enough. This is almost too much.

“Harder,” Andrew grunts into his ear. Neil digs his fingertips into Andrew's thighs, considers it beautiful when Andrew's breath hitches, feels himself stir when something warm and wet land on his chest.

Neil keeps his eyes closed as they breathe into each other's mouths, broken occasionally by lazy kisses. Leaves his hands where they are until he feels Andrew lean back and away, and politely pulls them back up over his head. For long moments, he focuses on the sound of Andrew in the house and just lays there. It's like walking, only better. This standing still, this lack of movement while he feels the rush of his life course through him.

A towel, lukewarm and persistent, swipes at his abdomen and below, and he flinches briefly. Doesn't open his eyes.

Andrew wouldn't want his eyes on him right now.

Later, he fixes them bowls of ice cream anyway and they argue over the Netflix new arrivals.

 


End file.
